The Sounds She Collected is a newsletter about mixtapes and mixed emotions. Thanks for being part of this hive mind for empathetic, hopeful people.
After a particularly travel-free half of the year, I escaped to snowy Michigan for nearly a week. There’s something about long drives that render a long exhale, the feeling of being a very small dot in a very expansive Earth.
When I travel, I’m given the space and novelty necessary to learn new things about myself and to question existing ways of being. So many of these moments begin with a long drive, headphones on, taking in the technicolor views whirring past me.
I’ll always remember my first really, really long drive. It was 2006. My high school orchestra took a trip to New Orleans…by bus. Near the start of the journey that ended up taking 13 hours, I propped my shins up on the seat ahead of me and gazed out the window at miles and miles of Illinois farmland. I nodded off somewhere in Kentucky, only to wake up in Kentwood, Louisiana, when a friend excitedly whispered, “This is where Britney grew up.”
It was my first time in that magical, musical city. But before we arrived, I witnessed the natural splendor of the American landscape changing shape right before my eyes—from flat farmland to lush wetlands and into beautiful views of gulfs that I’d never laid eyes on before. I watched cranes dip into the water as the sun rose overhead, wondering, Is there anything more magical than a long drive?
Little did I know, I’d make that same drive again, five years later for a service trip in college, in a van with no access to my cell phone and no music (how did I do that?). I’d also take drives from Chicago to West Virginia, Chicago to Boston, Chicago to Nashville, Colorado to California, up 4,320 feet from Denver to Breckenridge, and my all-time favorite, Charleston, South Carolina, to Bar Harbor, Maine.
The enduring facet of each of these drives is the music I was listening to when I took them. Music is sense memory; a song can instantly conjure an image of Chincoteague Island, Virginia; Chatham, Massachusetts; San Francisco, California; or Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It’s an auditory map for the mind, reminding me of where I’ve been and where I long to return.
Music as sense memory comes to life during a scene of my favorite movie, Almost Famous. After a lot of mishaps and band fights and jealousies, the band and crew find a transcendent moment on a bus outside Middle of Nowhere, USA. They all join together to sing Elton John’s seminal ballad, “Tiny Dancer.” Protagonist William Miller, played by Patrick Fugit, cannot connect to the moment. Frazzled, he laments that he needs to go home. But Kate Hudson’s Penny Lane puts her hands up as if to cast a magic spell and says, “You are home.”
On the road, home isn’t a singular place. It’s a state of mind of safety, of discovery. One you can find yourself in when you’re experiencing something totally new.
This week’s playlist, ride out in the country, features country, folk, and soul songs designed for long stretches out in the world. Shuffle it up, and enjoy the ride.
Listen to Tommy with a candle burning and you will see your entire future,
Sarah
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Together, we support: Save The Music Foundation, which partners with school districts and local communities to build sustainable music programs.
Bookmark a good read: Cuddle up in the comfort zone
Something to remember: “People have niceness and kindness mixed up. Niceness might mean saying positive things. But kindness is doing positive things: being thoughtful and considerate, prioritizing people’s humanity over everything else.” —Luvvie Ajayi Jones